Medieval Times
by XxFleurdelySxX
Summary: ROMY, AU. In 1155, young Lady Constance leaves her father's castle in Blaye to join the court of Eleanor of Aquitaine, in England. She lands in a colorful world of troubadours, poets... and knights...
1. Chapter 1

**Here we go with another Romy! I thought you fluff-loving gals would like the thought of medieval times, with handsome knights and beautiful ladies, in times of sword fighting and courteous love… mmm, this is going to be fun. And no plot, I promise! I don't even know _what could happen. I designed the first chapter to be sure no plot could slide in and ruin everything… _**

**Disclaimer****: Well, I haven't done that in ages… Lady ****Constance**** of Blaye and sir Remy of Fontainevrault, along with appearances of other characters, do not belong to me, they're Marvel's (at least they used to, before I messed them up and change them to fit them in the story). Other characters such as Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henry II and Jaufré of Blaye are real historical personalities, and the description of their appearance and attitude is based on books and web sites, with personal adding. Other characters, such as maids and other ladies, are purely home-made characters, popped up from my brain. Medieval characteristics are based on real facts, as much as possible. The story occurs in 1155, in ****England****, at the court of Henry II and Eleanor. There's no need in noticing the absence of accent in Remy and Rogue's speech, for obvious reasons: the only people living in ****Mississippi**** and ****Louisiana**** in 1150 were the Native Americans, and Cajun and Southern accents didn't exist yet. Also, I read somewhere in my history books that French was the language of the nobles in Europe in the Middle Ages, and that would explain why French, English and German all understood each other. This would also explain the large number of French names in my story. Oh, and by the way… Remy isn't a very medieval name, but I couldn't really go on and change it for Geoffrey or Bernard now, couldn't I? The LeBeau disappeared, though, sorry.**

**Enjoy!**

Constance of Blaye, gripping the skirt of her dress to stop them from shaking, looked up from her curtsy to meet amused blue eyes. Eleanor of Aquitaine_(1)_ was looking down at her, a smile on her fine, delicate pretty face. Constance quickly looked back at the ground, suddenly remembering she was facing the queen of England, wife of Henry II, and duchess of Aquitaine in France. "This isn't the time to make a false step, Constance" she thought, reminding herself. She heard a light chuckle, and a soft, light hand on her shoulder.

"Please, Lady Constance, stand up. You aren't facing your death sentence here." The amusement in the queen's voice made Constance smile, and she straighten up, letting go of her dark green dress, the fabric lightly brushing her legs.

"I am honored to meet her Majesty, Queen Eleanor…"

"Oh, Lady Constance… I have so many names already. Don't add any, child." The queen walked a few steps, nodding at the soldiers accompanying Constance to the castle. Stopping in front of a small window, she looked outside for a few moments, and turned back to her, her rich gold ornamented dress brushing the ground. Even after seven months of pregnancy, Eleanor of Aquitaine still held a grace no woman could equal. Constance never guessed she still had the face and the smile of a devilish child, even at thirty-three years old. Pointing the blue armchairs in a corner, she walked towards them. "Please sit down, Lady Constance. You are daughter of Jaufré Rudel of Blaye_(2), you said?" Smiling at Constance's small nod, she sat in one of the armchairs. "Why, Blaye_(3)_ is quite far, dear. What is the honor of such a ride?"_

"My father sent me here, your Majesty. He said you were the center of a world of music and poetry." Eleanor's face lightened, and she smiled dreamily. 

"Music and poems, Constance, are food to a healthy spirit… I know your father, a troubadour himself. But Aquitaine itself is a world of culture."

"Father said I might as well travel and learn different cultures while I listened to music…" Constance's voice cracked a bit. She liked it in Blaye, and didn't want to go in England, so far in the north. Eleanor noticed it and laughed, a crystalline sound in the almost silent hall.

"Lady Constance, you are welcomed here to do as you wish. Troubadours and poets fill this castle, and ask for nothing else than to make your mouth curl into a smile, your eyes twinkle with amusement, and your skin flush with flattery. And please, Lady Constance, be our guest at the tournament in two days."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Who are you going to ask to be your lady, sir?" Remy turned to meet young Robert's eyes, glittering with excitement in the dark room. Robert was his new squire, full of energy and willing to learn everything from the one he considered no less than God himself. Remy nearly chuckled and turned back to his sword, sighing. A little bit too willing. "Sir?" Remy smiled and stood up.

"I don't know yet, Robert. I'll see when I'm in front of them." Robert looked disappointed for a few seconds, but his face lighten as he pulled the chain mail suit from the wooden chest, his face flushing with effort. He dropped it heavily on the pinewood table, and Remy walked to him. "Too heavy for you?"_(4) _Robert shook his head, blonde locks falling over his eyes. He tucked them behind his ears, and reached down to the suit on the table, running his fine fingers on the cold steel mails.

"No, of course not, sir. My brother's an armorer, he made tons of those. But this one is beautiful, sir." Remy sat down on the small stool and cocked his head at his twelve years old squire.

"Thank you, Robert. Now call for Denys, so you can see how much better it looks once it's on someone's body." Robert frowned.

"I can help you put it on alone, I don't need Denys' help, sir." Remy laughed softly.

"I doubt it, Robert. Call for Denys." Robert's face darkened, and he went for Denys, a young man who failed as an assigned squire, but helped putting on armory during tournaments. Besides, he was tall and well built, which made him a much better help putting the heavy suit than poor Robert, despite his will to help. Together, they lifted the heavy chain mail suit and slid it down Remy's body, letting the weight fall on his shoulders. Denys smiled down at Remy and presented his hand to help him up. Before leaving, he ruffled Robert's hair and smiled.

"Nice new laddie you got there, sir Remy."

"Of course. He still has lots to learn, but he already knows a lot." Robert, probably tired of being talked about like he was a part of the furniture, glared at Denys. He turned his head to glare at Remy, but quickly looked at the ground, his face flushing as he realized he was about to glare at his only chance of ever being a knight. Remy hid his smile by turning to the window giving to the tournament court.

It was full of people. At the right, on a covered stage so the poor ladies wouldn't be in the direct sun, the king and queen of England sat side by side, talking to each other. On Queen Eleanor's right side sat dozens of young ladies in long dresses, chatting excitedly on which knight would pick which girl to be his lucky lady in the tournament. He nearly sighed. All of those faces he knew, and none he liked. Excited, squealing young ladies too happy to be chosen to say two intelligent words in a row. That 'be a beauty and shut up' thing they taught young girls was getting on his nerves.

Suddenly he narrowed his eyes and focused on one of the ladies. She was sitting right next to the queen, much to her usual best lady's dismay, who sat at the back, a dark shadow in her blue eyes. Remy smiled. A new lady, perhaps somewhat more interesting and intelligent than the other ever-chatting magpies around her. She was sitting restlessly, her hands folded on her lap, and her dark coppery hair was tied up in a nice bun at the back of her head. He couldn't see her face clearly from where he was, and he turned back to the table. Grabbing his knight's tabard, he put it on, buckled his thick leather belt and finally looked at Robert with a large grin on his face. Young Robert handed his chain mail helmet, his brows lifted up to his hairline. Remy slipped his head in and looked down at the boy, the rustling of the steel mails music to his ears. "I have a favor to ask you, Robert."

~~~~~~~~~~

Constance's attention drifted away from the clowns goofing around in the court to look at the boy trotting in their direction. Dressed in a plain brown linen tabard, he shot glances around him, and she could swear she saw pride in his eyes. She smiled. He looked like he couldn't be more than 14, and he was like a page who had just been 'promoted' at the rank of squire. He stopped in front of them, and Henri and Eleanor looked curiously down at him. He cleared his voice, and the ladies around Constance stopped talking, looking at the squire bending in front of the king and queen. Silence filled her ears, and she nearly sighed in relief. "You have something to tell us, young squire?" Henri asked, his loud voice bringing shivers in Constance's spine. "Tell us who it is you are working for, and look up, so I can see your face." The young squire lifted his head, determination written all over his face, and looked at Constance. She smiled at him, surprised of his attention. He flushed, and looked at his feet.

"My name is Robert, son of lord Kirkland of Northern England. I am at the employment of sir Remy of Fontainevrault. I come here to ask his king's favor for my knight. May I ask a question to the queen, her Majesty Eleanor?" King Henry's brows lifted, but he nodded to the boy. Queen Eleanor smiled and looked down at him.

"I know sir Remy of Fontainevrault" she said, a rogue smile on her lips. "And I am more than curious to know about what favors he wants to ask to me?"

"Sir of Fontainevrault wanted to know the name of your new lady's companion at your side, your Majesty." Constance felt her face flush, and swiftly looked down at her hands in her lap. Eleanor laughed, and put a soft hand on her arm. 

"Why don't you tell him yourself, dear Lady?" Constance looked up at Eleanor's devilish grin, then back at the boy.

"My name is Constance of Blaye, young Robert. May I ask you why he needs to know my name?" Robert looked at her, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Forgive me, Lady Constance, but I was forbidden to say more." He bent down in front of Henry and Eleanor, and after a brief word of thank, he ran back out of the court, and in the knights house. Constance looked at Eleanor, who just smiled back before returning to her husband. The ladies returned to their never-ending chatting, and Constance fought back the urge to cover her ears.

It wasn't long before horseback riding knights came out of the stable, one by one, and slowly paraded in front of yelling excited spectators. They finished in a perfect line in front of Henri and Eleanor, and bent their heads in salute. Curious, wondered which one was sir Remy. Not that it would have helped knowing, since they all wore tin masks over their faces, eyes barely showing through the slit on the mask. The first knight drove his horse in front of Eleanor and raised his sword, and Constance recognized him as Bernard, the head of the royal guard. Eleanor smiled, and threw him a light blue handkerchief. Several knights did the same with other ladies, all squealing as soon as they realized they were the chosen one, and Constance's heart began beating faster. Until the last knight slowly made his way in front of her, and drew out his sword. He took it in his left hand, presenting the hold up to her, and bent his head. 

"Lady Constance of Blaye, may I request you keep your eyes for me, and your prayers for my sake in the next games? For I would want nothing more than to fight for the emeralds you have instead of eyes." Constance held her breath, and she heard Henry hiss in some air through his teeth.

It was at the limit of courteous love, almost indecent.

As she stood there, silent, he looked up, searching her eyes for an answer.

When she saw the glint of amusement through the slit, she knew he wasn't any ordinary knight. And her heart fluttered.

She opened her hand and let her green handkerchief fly right to him. He caught it with his right hand. Sheathing back his sword, he tied the kerchief to his left mail glove, and saluted to her, bending his head. "It is an honor to me to fight for such beauty… I shall not dishonor you, my Lady." Constance nodded, and sat back, placing her shaking hands back in her lap.

He didn't dishonor her. She watched, mouth slightly agape, as he and the other finalist sword fought to the great amusement of the crowd. Constance wasn't amused. Back at home, knights liked to practice and play, but this was the first time she witnessed a real tournament. And she could see it was serious.

Both men were getting tired, and their hits were made with the last of their energy, and a lot of despair. They were getting easily disturbed by the shouts of the crowd, and Constance put her hands to her mouth when her knight almost got hit by the deadly sword, dodging the blow at the last moment. Dodge, hit, hit, dodge, step forward, dodge, hit, step backward, hit, the sword gleaming in the sunlight coming down at impressive speed only to be stopped by the other one with a clear clanking sound and a spark. Soon, the shouts of the crowd transformed into silence as the fight between sir of Fontainevrault and the head of the royal guard stretched over ten minutes, then half an hour. Both of them were now yelling with each of their hits, fatigue gnawing at their arms. Henry frowned and got up, ready to put the fight to an end if one of the two was to fall. Suddenly, Bernard made a false move. The other knight dodged a hit he thought he wouldn't see, and he lost his balance when Remy tripped him. His chain mail suit did the rest, weighting him down, and he fell to the ground on his back. Sir Remy quickly put the sword to his throat, and tapped at the mask, tilting it back to reveal Bernard's face. The crowd erupted into shouts, and Remy bent down and presented his hand. Bernard smiled and took it, and Remy helped him up.

Constance wanted to wait, but Eleanor took her arm. "Follow us, Lady Constance. Food is awaiting you." Constance was pulled with the movement of hungry overexcited ladies running for food in the large dinning room of the castle, so she followed. And when she managed to look back at the tournament court, she found it was empty.

**1. Her real name was Aliénor, but she is called Eleanor in English (and in this story, for your sake…*grin*) Even if she was the queen of France (until 1152), then the queen of England (she always liked putting herself into trouble, books say), she always stayed the duchess of Aquitaine, and ruled over the Aquitains, who liked her a lot.**

**2. Anachronism number one : Jaufré Rudel the troubadour, prince of Blaye, had no known children.**

**3. Blaye (France) is situated in the south West of ****France****, near the city of ****Bordeaux**** (in ****Aquitaine****).**

**4. Chain mail suits could weight up to 50 to 60 pounds, sometimes more, depending on the armory work. Believe me! I made a helmet in mail chain, and it weights 10 pounds alone… A knight couldn't (really couldn't) put in on or of without the help of at least one person. But that's nothing compared to the full plates armors, but these won't appear until the XIIIth century.**


	2. Chapter 2

Another lady, named Clothilde, grabbed her arm and all but dragged her inside. "Ain't I supposed to see the knight who fought for me?" she asked. Clothilde stopped in her tracks, and looked at her, brows raised.

"You've never seen sir Remy of Fontainevrault?"

"I've just arrived a few days ago, Lady Clothilde… I haven't seen the face of any of those knights." A large grin appeared on Clothilde's face.

"Oooh, well, you'll meet him at the banquet. They'll all be there."

The ball room where the banquet took place was full. The king and queen were nowhere to be seen, and so were the knights. Clothilde dragged her through the crowd and to the spot where the other ladies were chatting again, their squealing voices heard at the other end of the room. Suddenly a young boy appeared on a stage, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"_Oyez, oyez_!_(1) Three hurrays for our fearless knights!" The crowd erupted in hurrays as the knights entered the room, and Constance looked at them carefully. They had changed, putting away the helmet, chain mail suit and fighting tabard, changing it for a coat and brightly colored surcoat with different armouries embroided on the front and back. She cursed herself for not knowing the Fontainevrault armouries, as the knights walking in and blended with the crowd. She spotted young Robert, though, his blonde hair bright against his brown tabard. She walked to him. "Squire!" He stopped in his tracks and turned at the sound of official query. He recognized her, though, and bowed at her._

"Lady Constance?"

"Robert… where is your master, Sir Remy?" Robert looked around, searching for him. His face serious, he looked again at her, and shook his head. 

"He is here, Lady Constance, but I cannot see him…" She pursed her lips and dismissed the boy, looking around. Well, if she couldn't notice the armouries of Fontainevrault, she would proceed by elimination, knowing many other armouries. The white on green dragon, this one was from Scotland… Another one had a bright blue lion embroided on black surcoat, a city in the Holy Romano-Germanic Empire, she didn't remember which one. She was searching her memory while watching a black-on-green horse when she felt a hand on her arm, and turned. Clothilde was standing in front of her, a wide grin on her white face, and next to her stood a knight in black surcoat, a red embroided dragon on the front of his surcoat. Constance's heart beat faster.

"Lady Constance Rudel of Blaye, let me have the pleasure to introduce you to Sir Remy Castilloux of Fontainevrault." Her heart stopped, and she gathered enough sense to curtsy, trying to keep her eyes to the ground. She had to look up, though, and when she did, he only smiled and bent, taking hold of her offered hand. His was warm and dry, his soft, light touch a contrast with his rough palm and fingers, callused from sword fighting and horse back riding. A hand in the small of his back, he bent down and brushed his lips on the tip of her fingers_(2)_, his nose barely brushing her knuckles. A wave of heat washed over her and she felt her face flush as he straighten up and smiled down at her.

He was very tall, and towered a good head over her. Broad shouldered, he held imposing bearing that showed he had lived a lot. His long, dark auburn hair was tied up in his neck, and a light evening shade was covering his cheeks and chin, as they lifted in a smile. His eyes were a stunning caramel color, and the light from the torches and candles nearby lighted them like they were on fire. She shivered.

~~~~~~~~~~

Remy smiled to hide the fact that he couldn't breathe. Her forest green dress matched with her wide, dark lashed eyes, and two small curls of hair had escaped from her bun, framing her delicate oval face. The skin in her face looked soft and warm, and her nice, full lips stretched in a shaking smile when he looked up from kissing her hand. He'd resisted hard not to play his usual farce, and kiss the back of her hand. The aura emanating from her told him he didn't want to play that kind of game with her, and risk something very good. He offered her his arm to guide her to the tables. She smiled at him and, placing her hand over his, walked at his side. She also looked like she had recovered the use of her tongue.

"This was an impressive fight you put up with Sir Bernard." Remy shook his head.

"Sir Bernard isn't the head of the royal guard for no reason, Lady Constance. He is one of the best fighters I've personally met." They arrived at the table where Constance was assigned, and he let go of her arm, reluctantly. He bowed his head at her with a smile. "I shall see you during the evening, Lady Constance."

~~~~~~~~~~

He left, and she sat down slowly on her chair, her hands suddenly shaking. The other women at the table stopped chatting and all looked at her, smiles on their faces. "I suppose you found him charming…" said one of them.

"And polite…" said another. Constance blushed, and nodded.

"He does that with everyone" said the first lady in a cold voice. Constance recognized her as Loanna of Grimwald _(3), the queen's first lady, and she frowned._

"What do you mean?" The lady shook her head.

"Sir Remy never settles. He likes to court, but it never goes very far. A very frustrating man, is the knight of Fontainevrault."

"Oh" was all she found in answer. She looked down at her empty plate, feeling embarrassed. She had found him nice, gentle, and yes, very charming. He had chosen her… because she was new? Because she was a new game? A new courting challenge? She shook her head, and decided to push away the thought. She was here, might as well take advantage of it.

Later in the evening, she walked out of the bal room, unnoticed, to wander in the gardens. She was overwhelmed by the drinking and singing and dancing crowd, and felt like she couldn't breathe. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her shoes making little noise on the path between the flowers and trees. She knew the colors were beautiful by day, but by night, the flowers were closed, sleeping, and the trees gently stirred in the evening breeze. She tilted her head back and looked at the stars, shinning brightly in the sky, and once again wondered what could they be.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" She started and turned on her heels to meet whisky colored eyes. She sighed, looking angrily at him, and put a hand on her heart.

"In God's name, Sir Remy, have you the intention of making my heart stop?" He smiled and tilted his head to the side, and she blushed at her own words. "Forget what I said, Sir Remy. I am tired, and had a lot of the wine, I'm afraid." He walked to her and lifted his eyes to the sky.

"I rather know your heart is beating, Lady Constance. There is nothing more beautiful than when blood rises to your cheeks." She flushed at his words, and he smiled. "If I had a mirror, I could show you, my Lady." She hesitated between inflicting injury to him and laughing. Her civilized ways won over primitive ones, and she chuckled.

"Would you care to tell me why you are here, Sir Remy?" He presented his arm at her.

"I was wondering what such a beautiful rose was doing all alone here. And also if she would appreciate some company for a walk in the gardens." She hesitated. She had gone out to be alone, but… She smiled and took his arm, and they started walking. They stayed silent a long time, simply enjoying the sound of the crickets in the grass and the frogs in the lake nearby. She was very aware of his presence, and the heat of his arm went right through the sleeve of her dress. She liked having him at her side, and she felt safe with his tall figure walking beside her, and the sword in its sheath at his left side. She stole a sideway glance at his face. He was looking in front of him, his features serene, and the corners of his mouth curling up naturally, always on the verge of smiling. Anybody could think he was simply enjoying the walk if they didn't notice the way his eyes went from side to side, watching the bushes, and if they didn't touch his arm, slightly tensed under her fingers. Life was never safe around the castle, and she felt a wave of heat at the thought of being protected by him, if anything was to happen. She remembered what he looked like in a fight, and looked down at the path, suddenly embarrassed by the images in her head.

They arrived at a big stone fountain and Constance sighed with relief. She sat down on the bench circling the fountain and let out her breath, her feet throbbing with each heartbeat. "I'm guessing these shoes must be a living nightmare, my Lady." She turned her head. He was sitting next to her and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. She laughed.

"They are. I didn't know the gardens went that far."

"Oh, we haven't reached half of it yet, believe me."

"You know that place very well? Queen Eleanor said she knew you." His eyebrows raised as he turned his head at head.

"She did? I knew her when she was queen of France, three years ago. She is the one who made me knight. We talked a lot, but I never thought she'd remember me." Constance chuckled.

"Well, maybe you aren't the kind of knight a woman forgets easily, Sir Remy." He looked at her and made a little smile, his teeth barely showing. He was about to answer when the bushes stirred in a ruffles of leaves, and a masked man emerged from the bushes, sword in hand. Constance gasped and froze on the bench, but Remy was instantly up and his sword, unsheathed. The metal of the swords gleamed in the moonlight, and she shivered, not wanted to make a sound.

"Who are you?" The man tightened his hold on his sword and barely shook his head.

"Sir Remy… What are you doing here?" Remy narrowed his eyes, obviously trying to recognize the voice muffled by the linen mask.

"Who are you?" he repeated. "What do you want?" The man's head turned in Constance's direction, and she dug her fingers in the wooden bench, her blood turning cold in her veins.

The man charged her. He yelled and rose his sword over his head, running in her direction. She barely had the time to register the fact that he was intending on killing her when a shadow came between her and the man, crouching and raising his sword over his head to stop. Metal came against metal, and Constance closed her eyes when sparks lit from the contact. 

The two men began fighting, and Constance had the weird impression that the other man didn't really want to fight. He just dodged Remy's aims at him and rose his sword to block the deadly cut of the blade, though Remy managed to cut him on the shoulder. But Remy was tired from the tournament, and he swayed on his feet a few times. The other man noticed, and took profit from one of those moments to bring the hold of his sword against Remy's temple. Remy stumbled away from the blow, almost knocked down, and the man took a last look at her before running away through the bushes again in a ruffle of leaves. Remy was on his knees, panting, and slowly got up, his sword hanging down from one of his hands while the other one was at his temple, clutching his banged head. He pulled his hand away from his head and dubiously looked at it. Seeing nothing that seemed to worry him, he sighed and let his hand drop, and sheathed his sword. He looked at her. "Are you alright, Constance?" There was a lot of concern in his voice, and she barely noticed the lack of 'lady' before her name. She liked the personal side of it. The only other person she knew who called her without the usual 'lady' before her name was her father. She nodded.

Her arms hurt, and she looked down to see her knuckles were white with effort as she still dug her nails in the wood. She let go, and saw Remy walking to the bench, and sitting on it, a deep frown on his face. "Who was that man?" she asked, her voice shaking. Remy blinked a few times, looking at his hands. He leaned down and let his elbows rest on his knees. Shaking his head, he looked up at her.

"I don't know. Do you have any enemies you know about, Lady Constance?" She twitched at the sound of her name, and must have looked dumbfounded, for her raised a hand and wave it in dismissal. "Of course not. The only enemy a lady can have is another lady." She looked down at her shaking hands, and started when she felt his touch on her arm, light as a feather. She looked up at him.

He was looking at her with a worried look on his face. His honey colored eyes were on her, his powerful yet reassuring gaze intent on her reactions. His mouth was relaxed, the corners of his thin lips lightly turned up, on the verge of smiling. She froze. So did he, and his hand stayed on her arm.

"Never in my life" he whispered, "never, in all the places I've been, in all the people I've met, have I seen anything half as beautiful as you." She opened her mouth and repressed a gasp, surprised. She was used to courteous love, but the way Remy was looking at her made her heart flutter, and her hands grew cold as waves of heat washed over her insides. "Lady Constance…" he started. She reached out a hand, her fingers barely brushing his lips.

"Constance." He frowned.

"What?"

"Only Constance, please." He looked at her a long time, and she swallowed. Her hand was still near his lips and, smiling, he kissed her fingers, softly, as a deep shivered went through her spine. He reached up, his hand brushing her cheek, putting a lock away. She closed her eyes as he leaned down, his lips gently settling on hers. It was soft and warm, and it was what she wanted. Her hands reached up to settle on his chest, but her took her wrists and broke the kiss, his eyes looking deep into hers.

"We shouldn't stay here. That man could come back." She nodded shakily, and he rose to his feet and took her hand, helping her getting up. She held her arm and, uncomfortable, cleared her throat.

"Hum… Sir Remy…" He looked down at her, a surprised look on his face.

"Remy."

"What?" He chuckled.

"Only Remy, Constance. Please." He brushed an auburn lock away from her face again, and she tilted her head so her cheek would brush the skin of his hand. He left it there and she looked up, yearning for another kiss. His other hand went to the other side of her face, and he gently cupped it, tilting her head so she would look up, into his eyes. "Soon", he said, and bent down to kiss her another time, a light brushing of her lips that left her wanting more. She felt something soft against her hands, and looked down to see her handkerchief in his hands. "I forgot to give it back to you." She smiled.

"Keep it."

**1. _Oyez is a verb, and a French archaism, so it isn't used anymore. It comes from the name _ouïe_, which means 'hearing'. In other words, it meant "Hear, hear!"_**

**2. Hand kissing was an art in Middle Ages, and a dangerous one. The place where the man placed his lips depended on the relationship he had with the lady he saluted. If you were meeting a lady for the first time, you kissed the tip of her fingers, near the fingernails. The more you knew the lady, the more you kissed higher on the hand. If you were kissing at the right place or not was judged by the lady herself, and men never knew how they would react (there wasn't only the danger of kissing too far… there was also the danger of not kissing far enough for your mistress' taste…) Fingers, knuckles… The back of the hand, as we see in the movies, was reserved to saluting your own wife (or mistress, mind you), or for men who didn't know the laws of gentry, and wanted a hard slap in their face. In some places, hand kissing wasn't even done with the mouth if you didn't know the lady: men touched the tip of the lady's fingers with their chin.**

**3. Loanna of Grimwald isn't a real character. I didn't create her, though, she's a character from the book "Le lit d'Aliénor" from Marielle Calmel (that's in French, sorry, I don't know if there's an English translation), where Loanna is Eleanor's best friend, and first lady.**

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**Sorry, my mailbox screwed up, and I can't get to my reviews… The problem should be solved in the next 24 hours, they say, so I'll comment the reviews in the next chapter. Hopefully. If they didn't erase everything in my mailbox… Yay for yahoo! *rolls her eyes***


	3. Chapter 3

**A/U**** : Hello! Remember me? Fleur? I used to write stories here… *sigh* I know. I'm ashamed for being such a terrible writer, and leaving you alone without updates, but hey, I was… hmmm, well, I don't _really have a good excuse for it, and I feel bad cause you probably all forgot about me and won't review. Heck, I deserved it. But I would really appreciate if you reviewed, though… please? To show fleur you aren't too angry at her?? *flutters her eyelashes* Perty please?_**

**Disclaimer ****: Remy and Rogue aren't mine, and neither are any other Xmen cameo you could meet in the story (duh. If they were mine, would I really be writing on _fanfiction.net_? Naah. I'd be rich.) Most of the other characters are historical characters, so they aren't mine either, and I tried to base their attitude on what books say. Loanna of Grimwald isn't mine, she's a character from a book of Marielle Calmel. Thus, you guessed, not mine. So, everybody understood I'm not making a looney out of this? **

And now for the reviews…

**foofighta** : Hey beauté, look at what I did! I UPDATED! I UPLOADED A CHAPTER! You've made me a bad author with all our swell stories and obsessions (boy I hope nobody else reads that, it really sounds weird), but you leave for a few days, and I'm all miserable and bored in front of my silent computer. No dings. *tear* Well, your absence made me feel guilty, and gave me enough despair to go look for my medieval muse and get her out of the closet. After a hot bath and a big bowl of vanilla ice cream, she was rid of the dust, and as good as new, and I sat down and wrote. Felt so strange writing about Remy and Rogue again. I mean, Remy is a lot like Lou, but Rogue is nothing like *cough, cough*. Now, about your review (you might have to go and re-read it…), yes, I made Remy tall in this story, and yes, I always pictured him as being tall. Then again, considering the height most people had in Medieval times (5'4, 5'5, for a normal man), he probably isn't 6 feet tall, otherwise he'd be a _giant_. And YES, he has brown eyes. He wouldn't be alive, let alone a knight, if he had devil eyes. His parents would've burned him the moment he opened his eyes for the first time. Oh yeah, and you didn't like the ponytail? I got rid of it for you, see at the end of the chapter… Did I mention I love Abe?

**Igamblelife** : Well gee, I guess I wasn't that subtle, was I? *grin* A PLOT? Hahaha, probably, it's been so long since I've written anything, I don't even remember what happened in chapter 2…*checks* Oooooooh, yeah, _that_. Hmm. Well, I'm going to have to do something about that in the next chapter, but for now, fluff and fun are enough.

**ishandahalf **: BE HAPPY! Can I get a tiny…hmmm… silver star for updating? And I'll be honest, you made me feel MIGHTY guilty for not updating with your great story, and the huge amount of reviews you got made me dead jealous of you. I hope this chapter was worth the wait (I hope so, I even made it longer than usual for _your pleasure!), well probably not worth a two months wait… *blushes* And no, don't worry, I won't make Rogue a fragile and weak girl, she's still Rogue, only in a different time and circumstances. On with the fluff! I know! I know I managed to get a plot in, but I pushed it aside for this chapter. Hope you don't mind too much…. *grin*_

**WarmerThanFire** : Well, you don't have to be sorry for not reviewing sooner, and I don't have to be sorry for not updating in two (was that three?) months. Deal?

**Samm16** : *shivers in fear, curling up in foetal position in her chair* I'm so sorry (I feel like I'm saying this a lot here)…sorreeee… here's more! And more… some other time!

**velvetine*rose, VA-river-gal, Caliente, sweet-chick3, Yumiko, Calliann, Panther Nesmith, TheWalrusWasPaul, Becki, ChaosCat** : *looks at the ground in shame, avoiding her faithful reviewers' eyes* I'm so sorry. Mea culpa. Blame it on foofighta. Blame it on my independent muse. I'm nothing but an innocent victim in this story… Thanks for the encouragement, though, even if I turned into a senseless evil never-updating writer these lasts months...

**Enjoy!**

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_A little reminder, so you won't have to re-read the first two chapters :_

_Constance__ is Rogue (for those who haven't noticed), who moved to __England__, at the __castle__ of __King Henry__ and Queen Eleanor of __Aquitaine__, in 1155. There she witnesses a tournament where a mysterious knight fights for her. She meets him later, helmet-less, and her knees go weak as she looks for the first time in Remy de Fontainevrault's eyes. The feeling is mutual, and they meet again for a walk in the royal gardens. They were getting along fine when a mysterious crazy masked guy pops in, with the intention of killing __Constance__, before being fought back by Remy. They decide to go back to the castle, but not before she thanks him with a kiss._

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They walked their way back through the gardens, Remy's hand on the hilt of his sword. She chuckled. "You know what I wanted to be when I was a child, Remy? I would sit on a bench as the young boys would play with wooden swords, pretending they were knights fighting for a belle." She smiled, looking up at him. "So many times I walked to them, asking if I could play too. It made my mother angry, saying it wasn't worthy of a respectable lady. But I didn't want to be a lady. I wanted to be a knight." He looked down at her, a smirk on his lips.

"And did you fight, Constance? If I remember my childhood right, I doubt we would've let a girl fight with us."

She shook her head, still smiling. "No, they kept laughing at me, saying I was a girl, and that girls weren't supposed to fight. That they were made to be beautiful and fragile, and that men were meant to protect them." She sighed. "They made me so angry I slapped one of them."

He laughed. "So you never learned to fight with a sword?"

"I managed to get my hand on an old sword, with a blunt blade, and mimicked the moves I saw the knights do. I never really learned, though."

Music came to their ears as they approached the bal room and she gave a little sigh, not sure if she wanted to go back to the chatting and squealing ladies instead of staying with Remy. They stopped near the door, and she looked up at him, suddenly feeling shy. He smiled. "Would you like to learn, milady? Or would you rather dance?"

She frowned, "Learn?" Her eyes widened. "Sword fighting?"

"Mmhmm," he answered with a smile, and took a few steps back from the door. "If you will just follow me, lady Cons…"

"Constance," she interrupted him, rolling her eyes, following his steps as he walked through the dark halls until they reached the armor room. He opened the door for her and she stepped in, opening her eyes wide at the sight of the armors and arms all around the room. She slowly walked to the swords, amazed, and ran a hand on the blades. Her hand stopped on the longest one. It was thinner than usual, but longer, the hold made of a magnificent gold decorated with silvery strings. The counterweight on the hilt was decorated with a red sun, and she ran a delicate finger on the decoration. Smiling, she held the hold with both hands, and lifted it with a small grunt._(1) She let the sword fall forward, the tip of the blade touching the ground with a clank, and Remy stood in front of her. _

"A longer blade is a good choice, Constance. The distance of the reach is what saves your life."

She chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. "Are you telling me I have short arms?"

He smiled, and nodded. "With all due respect, Lady Constance, you wouldn't survive a fight with a short blade." She laughed and took a step back, raising her blade a few feet over the ground.

"I probably wouldn't survive a fight at all, sir Remy, no matter the length of my blade."

He laughed softly, unsheathing his own sword. "Then we have to make sure, Constance, that you can." She nodded as he moved his sword in a large bow, his blade meeting hers with a small sound. She looked up at him, smiling, but he shook his head. "The blade, Constance. You can never let yourself take your eyes off the blade and the arms holding it. If you're not strong enough to hit someone stronger than you, you must block. Hold it in a diagonal line, yes, like that, and brace your arms to take the hit. Higher, Constance, you have to hold your blade higher than that."

She sighed and raised it more, the tip of her blade hovering at the same height than her eyes. He nodded, and raised his. She could feel the muscles in her arms scream out in pain as she stood, waiting nervously for him to move. He talked again, though, almost making her sigh, annoyed. "You have to make sure your blade is perpendicular with the other blade when you block it. If it's not, then the blades might slip and hurt you seriously. Let's try." He drew back his arms and brought down his blade, aiming for her chest. She let out a surprised yelp and raised her arms, bringing the blade up to block his hit. The blades collided with a loud clank, and she felt the hit echoing through her muscles. She let out a moan as she lowered her blade, taking a few steps back. She glared at him, suddenly angry. "Did you have to hit so hard?"

He raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. He looked serious all of a sudden, and she realized that this, what she had considered a game, was serious stuff for him. "A hit like that would barely cut through the layers of your dress, Constance. Put power in your block, _push away the other blade. If the hit comes from the left, then turn your body to the left," he said, showing her by doing it himself, "and make sure your blade crosses the other. Don't stop the movement, or your arms won't be able to take the hit, and it'll hurt." The corners of his lips turned up. "Like it just did."_

She swallowed. "And how could I hurt anybody, if all I know is blocking?"

"By letting him get tired. It is much more difficult, and demands more effort, to hit than to block. Once someone is tired, he concentrates less on the battle, and more on his hits. It is easier, then, to take a swing on his left side, the fastest, and easiest way to the heart," he said in an even voice. She smiled.

"This isn't the first time you explain this. But you have a student. Robert, I think?"

He smirked. "And you thought you were the only lady who wants to learn to fight, Constance?"

She froze, raising her blade, and narrowed her eyes. "This is what you call love court? This isn't a regular way of courting a lady, _sir Remy."_

"I'm not a regular knight, _Lady_ Constance." He raised an eyebrow, moving his sword from left to right, making the blade catch the light from the torches lighting the room. "I thought you already noticed that."

She smiled, turning into a fighting stance. "And I'm not a regular lady, sir knight. I want to practice those blockings again."

He smiled and took a few steps forward, aiming for her right side. She did as he had told her, and slowly began to understand what he meant by pushing the blade, as she slowly got the hang of it. She could tell he wasn't hitting harder than necessary, but it was enough, and her arms hurt. It hurt less and less, though, and she didn't take her eyes off the blade, and the arms holding it. Everything else around her became a blur as she raised her arms to block a high hit, lowering it immediately when his blade swung from under, aiming for her side, the sound of the blades colliding almost sounding as music to her ears. She could hear her heart beat madly in her chest, and her shoulders began to throb painfully with the effort. With a last groan, she took a swing, aiming at his shoulder, and he raised his sword, the blades scraping with a loud creak. Her moist hands lost hold of the sword, and it fell on the ground with a clank. She took a step back, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her chest, panting heavily as blood rushed in her veins.

She opened her eyes after a moment to stare in his soft brown eyes, and he smiled, putting his sword back in its sheath and walking to her. "You still need practise, Lady Constance. But you have skills," he said softly, not taking his eyes off hers. Her breath was still short, though not from the physical effort anymore, as she felt his presence, his heat, near her own body. Something flashed in his eyes as he noticed it too, and she barely had the time to register the fact that he was moving before he crushed his mouth on hers.

Her heart missed a beat, but her body knew what to do, and her arms went automatically around his neck as his wrapped themselves around her waist. Her fingers dugs in his hair, messing up his low ponytail, and making his soft auburn locks fall around her face, and he deepened the kiss, his soft tongue pushing further in her mouth. She greeted it with a small moan, feeling the cold wall against her back, his hot breath against her cheek, and his strong body pressed against hers. His hands moved from her back to her sides, only to freeze there as a polite cough from the door made them break the kiss, and snap their head at the door.

Loanna _(2)_ stood there, a small smile on her lips as she politely looked at the ground. Remy stepped back and Constance blushed, straightening up her dress. Loanna looked back at her, amusement lighting her eyes. "The Queen is looking for you, Lady Constance."

_(1) Steel hadn't been invented in the middle ages yet, so swords were made of iron, just like the full plate armors you see in movies. No aluminium here. They made the swords big and heavy, too, so that the hits would actually hurt the other person, so a sword usually weighted from 15 to 25 pounds. Not something you use single handed, even for an experienced knight. As for the armors, they're absent from this story, simply because they weren't used yet, of very rarely, in 1155, as mentioned in the first chapter. Chain mail suits were still used in those years, and will be until the XIIth century._

_(2) Check chapter 2: Loanna of Grimwald is Queen Eleanor's first lady (read: confident and best friend)._

**Mini note for ish : I'll take that 'Queen of fluff' title back, please! *grabs the title and tries to yank it out of ish's greedy hands* But if you want, you get to be a Princess of fluff. Deal? *grins and hugs the title against her chest* my prrrrrrrrrrecioussss…**

**Could you guess I'm making this out as it comes? I have NO idea what's coming up…**

**To be continued… Soon, hopefully ;-)**


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